They were at Fellside before the storm developed its full power, but the
sky was leaden, the landscape dull and blotted, the atmosphere heavy and
stifling. The thunder grumbled hoarsely, far away yonder in the wild
gorges of Borrowdale; and Mary and her husband made up their minds that
the tempest would come before midnight.
Lady Maulevrier was suffering from the condition of the atmosphere. She
had gone to bed, prostrate with a neuralgic headache, and had given
orders that no one but her maid should go near her. So Lord Hartfield
and his wife dined by themselves, in the room where Mary had eaten so
many uninteresting dinners _tete-a-tete_ with Fraeulein; and in spite of
the storm which howled, pelted, and lightened every now and then, Mary
felt as if she were in Paradise.
There was no chance of going out after dinner. The lake looked like a
pool of ink, the mountains were monsters of dark and threatening aspect,
the rain rattled against the windows, and ran from the verandah in
miniature water-spouts. There was nothing to do but stay in doors, in
the sultry, dusky house.
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